


i have been left here in the reeds

by ohallows (dean_n_pie)



Category: DCU
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, PTSD, This is extremely tim-centric, Violence, basically if its in the comics its in here, character death (mentioned), pre-52 and new 52
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 18:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10668507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dean_n_pie/pseuds/ohallows
Summary: Tim through the years.





	i have been left here in the reeds

**Author's Note:**

> the reasoning behind this fic: i saw tim hate on my dash and word vomited. then, i decided that i could run with this and thought about tim having multiple different timelines in his head while he's in mr. oz's prison and that being the reason behind why he was getting so Crazy™ in action comics recently 
> 
> but bri, tim is 6 he wouldn't be this perceptive! to which i answer - this kid figured out batman and robin's IDs at 9 or 10 (depending on the timeline) and ur trying to tell me he wasn't a little freakishly smart 6 year old? let me have this pls (also how tf do u write for a 6-year-old??? no clue but they were important scenes)
> 
> and yes i am Firmly of the opinion that tim snuck out to take pics of batman and robin
> 
> (this is another of those fics where i'm like... i hate all of it but its taking up space on my phone and needs to Go) anyway enjoy!
> 
> (also song is from 715-creeks by bon iver - my tim drake playlist is [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/1281562717/playlist/65slsvX8QMm19xMjoyk8ix) if you want to listen while reading

Tim is five years old and he's watching the Flying Graysons fall, fall, fall.

They tumble from the sky, and Tim might not be that old yet but he's sneaky enough that he's crept over to the stairwell at night and gazed in a strange mix of wonder and horror at the movies his parents watch after they think he's gone to bed.

When someone dies in those movies it's in slow-motion, the smoke from the gun illuminated in the streetlight, the woman's body arcing gracefully as she falls to the ground, the realization in a man's eyes as the car begins to skid and flip. 

This is nothing like those movies.

There is no artful fall, no second for Tim to understand what's happening before his mother's hands are covering his eyes. 

That doesn't mean he can't hear.

The tent is silent around him, but he can hear one person screaming, and he shrinks in on himself, curling closer to his mother's side. 

Her arms wrap around him protectively and he can feel his father tense at his side. 

People are beginning to move, screaming and rushing away, and Tim is being jostled as people climb over the seats. His mother rises and pulls him into her arms, grabbing his father's hand as Jack begins to push through the crowd of people. 

Tim spares one look for the center of the ring. There are a few bystanders who rushed down, either to help or to watch in morbid curiousity. He recognizes one of them - Batman, standing in the rafters while members of the circus wrap their arms around a collapsed Richard Grayson. He tries not to look at the bodies he knows are on the floor, but his eyes drift there anyway. 

They're broken.

Just hours earlier he was perched on their son's lap as they all posed for a picture, smiling politely at the camera. 

They'll never fly again. 

Tim leaves the Big Top that night with his face buried in his father's shoulder and refusing to walk, and for the first time his father is humoring him, isn't reproachful, isn't talking loftily about what it means to be a Drake.

Him and his mother are both silent, but they're exchanging looks that say that they'll be talking later. 

The picture of them standing with the Graysons before the show is crumpled up in Tim's pocket. 

 

\--

 

Tim has just turned six when he sees them in the paper.

A blurry photo of Batman and Robin soaring above the city, Robin's costume shining as he flies, contrasting sharply as Batman seems to be nothing more than a shadow on the front page. 

 _BOY WONDER SOARS ALONGSIDE BAT,_ the paper's headline screams, and Tim is enthralled. 

But then his father turns the page and grabs up the sports section. Robin's smiling face is lost behind the news that the Gotham Knights lost another football game. 

That doesn't stop Tim from cutting out the image as soon as his parents leave for work. Mrs. Mac is upstairs doing the laundry and replacing the sheets, so Tim moves quickly and leaves everything as he found it. He puts the paper back in its stand, burying it a few weeks back so his father won't have reason to look at it again. 

He runs up to his room and clutches it to his chest, scared that he might be doing something wrong, and shuts the door as soon as he gets in his room. 

You can barely make out any features outside of the blur of yellow, green, and red, but Tim's always been a believer. His father scoffed at the grimy shadows that newspapers claimed were the Bat, and Tim's mom always thought it was a publicity stunt. But Tim's always known that Batman was real, that there was someone on the streets protecting the innocent and stopping the evil, improving the city piece by tiny piece. And now he has a sidekick, a kid, someone who's there to fight away the shadows and _be seen_ in all the ways that Batman can't.

The news never gets a good look beyond blurry shots, but the brightness of Robin's costume is bright enough to stave off the dark. 

Tim keeps collecting newspaper photos, long after his dad has forgotten about the paper but before the paper is tossed in the fire on a cold night, and hides all of them in a shoebox under his bed. 

The only other thing in the shoebox is a crumpled and ripped at the edges photo of him sitting on a nice acrobat's knee in the hours before his life as he knew it changed forever. 

 

\--

 

Tim is eight years old and his parents are never home. 

They're away on business trips, taking vacations, whatever, but they're leaving Gotham and they very rarely take Tim along with them. He doesn't complain; being left alone with Mrs. Mac is the equivalent of being left totally alone, and lacks the obligation of having to go to his parents work parties every weekend so that his parents can brag about "how smart our Tim is." 

Richard Grayson is one of the few younger people at the parties, and while he's very friendly to Tim, he's also 14 years old so hanging with a young kid isn't on his to-do list, really. Tim watches him at the parties, usually under the request of his father, because Dick is the picture of ideal heir, and Tim needs to learn how to emulate it. 

But the parties themselves are awful. Tim lives by the ideal that children are meant to be seen not heard, and his cheeks always hurt after all the women come by to pinch them. 

His parents apologize, say that they don't mean to be away so often, and if there's anything they can do to make Tim feel better...?

Tim asks for a camera. His parents don't question it, as relieved as they are, and within the next few days Tim has both a high-quality camera and a new darkroom addition off of his room, courtesy of his mother and father. Mrs. Mac doesn't say anything but Tim finds stacks of film left in the darkroom and knows that they're not from his parents. 

The newspapers can't get there soon enough, and they never get close enough for a good shot. How could they? Batman knows how to evade them all by now. 

Tim doesn't know why he thinks he has a chance to get a good photo when none of the newspapers can, but he's damned ready to try.

He asks his father to buy a broken police scanner from a pawn shop; the owner assured him that he wouldn't be able to use it for anything and Tim explained it to his father by saying he wanted to take it apart and analyze it, because he's just that interested in electronics. It wasn't really a lie; Tim will be taking it apart, but he'll also be putting it back together and he knows that he'll be able to hook it up to the original network. 

It takes him weeks after buying the scanner to actually get it up and running again; he listens with bated breath the first night it works and hears about a robbery down on Main. 

That first night is the night he learns about using the shadows, hiding away as he watches Batman and Robin take out the bad guys minutes before the police show up. 

He wishes he'd brought his camera, and does so the next time his parents go out of town.

 

\--

 

Tim is nine and he's in awe of Robin. 

He hides in the shadow of a building and thinks about how proud Batman would be. The shutter on his camera is nearly soundless as he snaps the picture, watching in awe from the viewfinder.

Robin laughs as he takes out the bad guys, and while Batman doesn't outwardly say anything or show any sort of emotion on his face, Tim can tell that he doesn't totally hate it. 

(Tim has one photo of Batman smiling. And it might be an unconscious facial spasm, but Tim would keep it over any pictures he has. It was in the early years, after Robin took out a gang by himself before turning to smile at Batman, saying something clever that Tim couldn't catch from his distance. Batman said something short back, and Robin turned away. He missed Batman's smirk, but Tim didn't.)

He adjusts his stance slightly and dares to peek one more inch around the corner. The camera shutter clicks once more, catching Batman and Robin as they fly away into the night.

Tim stows the camera away carefully, slinging the bag against his side. He swings over the side of the fire escape and drops to the ground. 

Logically, being out here is a terrible decision, and a kid from the suburbs can get into a lot of trouble going downtown at night. Tim knows that. Logically. 

He's gotten even better at avoiding the drunks, the criminals, the gangsters, all of the above. It helps that he's a pretty scrawny kid and can hide in the crevices, and he's thin enough that he just looks like another homeless person on the streets. 

It's all worth it to him, regardless. He hasn't gotten into any trouble (yet) and honestly he would hope that Batman and Robin were close enough to help if it ever happened.

Maybe he should start taking karate or judo, something that can give him an edge on the street so that he isn't completely helpless.

He leaves that night, unsuccessful, but a week later a news camera captures what Tim never could. The anchor talks about the two vigilantes while Tim focuses on Robin's flip. He twists his body and Tim stares. Because he's only seen that move once before, and it was followed by a tragic end, bodies hitting the floor and hiding in his mother's coat as he heard Richard Grayson scream out. 

Tim watches in awe, because it has to be Dick Grayson, it absolutely has to be. 

It's a signature move perfected by his family, and unless there was another young boy raised in the Flying Grayson tradition who's been in Gotham and actively working as for the past three or four years, it's the only conclusion that makes sense.

But Tim's a scientist by heart, skepticism reigning supreme over any heartfelt declaration, so he resolves to find more evidence.

A few days later, Robin takes a kick to the head as Tim snaps a picture; his hand is clapped to his cheek as he spits blood onto the ground, smiling up at the bad guy as he twirls through the air and knocks him out cold. He calls his victory out to Batman, and Tim catches the developing bruise on his cheek in the split-second it's illuminated by the streetlight.

He makes a note on his sheet of paper and grabs his bike, pedaling quickly away. His parents are back in town for the weekend, and while normally Tim wouldn't try to sneak out simply because he's never sure his parents won't try to check on him, tonight was a special occasion. 

Because Robin might be Dick Grayson, which means that Batman can be no one other than Bruce Wayne, and if Tim figured that out before anybody else, well. He'll have one more thing to be proud of, and maybe he can. Maybe he can help.

Either way, Robin has a nasty bruise on his cheek and Tim has the photographic evidence to prove it, thanks to a quick series of shots he took in the hopes of capturing another signature Flying Grayson move. 

The bruise will have to be enough. 

And, surely enough, the next time Tim sees Dick at a party, he has a bruise the size of a heel on his face. He explains it away with a laugh, saying he got hit in the face with a tennis ball, but there are no other lines to indicate that it's true, so Tim finally allows himself to come to a conclusion. 

Exusing himself while simultaneously thanking whatever powers that be that the party was at his house, he rushes up the stairs. The long glare of his father burns into his back, and he resigns himself to listening to a lecture once all the guests have left. 

Just last month, Tim was making small talk with Dick at one of Bruce's charity functions, asking about inane things like homework and school and video games. And now, he's certain that Dick is Robin, that he's one-half of the crime fighting duo that protects Gotham.

As soon as Tim sneaks upstairs, he's booting up his father's computer, trotting around the house in nothing but socks as he tries to be silent. 

From there, it's nothing more than a simple arts&crafts project, connecting the evidence Tim does have with the eventual conclusion, but he only has so much time before his father comes upstairs to drag him back to down to the party. So Tim pauses, connects the most obvious and definite claims, and shoves it all back under his bed to be worked on in the morning. 

Before his dad shows up Tim sneaks back downstairs, slipping seamlessly into the role of "dutiful son."

However, he can't help watching how Bruce and Dick move, how they never seem to be more than a 20 foot radius away at all times, how much Dick acts like Bruce at the parties, how Bruce holds himself even while acting as "Brucie."  

Tim's met Bruce six or seven times before, and Dick even less, but he has trouble reconciling the idea of Brucie Wayne (as his father calls him), drunken idiot and spoiled playboy, with the savior of Gotham. 

And yet it's there in the shape of the shoulders, in the slight sharpness of the gaze that Bruce directs at the crowd, at how his eyes constantly dart around during interviews like he's cataloging exits and possible weak points, ready to jump into action at a minute's notice. 

It's incredibly subtle, so much so that you couldn't find it if you didn't already suspect that there was more to him, but the more Tim sees of Bruce the more everything makes sense.

He studies Richard, too, studies his smiles and compares them to the old, gritty image that he stole from his father's newspaper all those years ago, and realizes that he's right. 

It's like looking at a completed puzzle; everything's fallen into place, and Tim's kind of confused as to how he couldn't have seen it before. But everything fits, fits so well, and Tim is amazed. 

He's managed to do exactly what no one on the Gotham PD could, succeeded where hundreds of private investigators failed, and he can't tell anybody. 

Not only would no one believe him, a nine-year-old claiming to have proof of Batman, but he can't expose their identities to the public. 

Luckily, his father excuses him early than expected, telling him to run off and play with his chemistry set (and really, it's amazing how much more indulgent his father is when there are rich old ladies standing around and commenting on how adorable Tim is). 

He escapes only having to suffer one pinch on the cheek and darts upstairs. The board is still under his bed so he pulls it out immediately, tacks on more photos, and lays it out against his bed. 

Tim sits there in stunned silence, staring at the screen, and writes down, in shaky hand, next to his most recent picture of Batman: _BRUCE WAYNE_.

And next to the picture of himself sitting on Dick's lap, he writes down _ROBIN_.

It makes _so much sense_.

 

\--

 

Tim is 10 years old and there's a new Robin on the streets. 

He's less graceful than the original but just as effective. The news agencies speculate what could have happened, where the other Robin was, but a few days later Nightwing shows up and Tim knows exactly who it is. Dick Grayson returned, wearing a new costume and making a name for himself away from Batman. 

The new Robin's must be Jason Todd, a wayward street kid who Bruce Wayne took in after meeting him in Crime Alley. Tim doesn't know much about him yet. 

He will.

More news stations have footage of Batman and Robin, especially coming from up-and-coming reporter Vicki Vale, and now there's more content than Tim could ever get on his own.

His parents no longer send him to bed before the evening news comes on, so now he gets to watch the grainy footage of Batman and Robin (although it's mostly Robin, Batman blending into the shadows and staying out of the camera's range apart from the occasional blur of a cape). The newspapers print more and more photos, and Tim already figured it out, already knows who Batman and Robin and the new Robin and Nightwing are, and he doesn't know who Batgirl is but he most definitely has his suspicions (number one on the list being Barbara Gordon, but she's fallen off the map recently so he isn't sure about his initial guess). 

That doesn't mean he's not still fascinated. The box under his bed has more pictures than ever, and he waits for his parents to leave before clipping them out of the newspaper, printing them from his father's computer, and watching the footage over and over in amazement. 

 

\--

 

Tim is 11 and he knows more martial arts styles than any child his own age. 

His father never questioned why he wanted to get involved, just clapped him on the shoulder with a proud, "That's m'boy," and signed him up for classes straightaway. 

Tim gets to learn fighting techniques and his mom and dad get to brag about him at the office parties. Really, it's a win-win for them all. 

He advances through the ranks slowly and find that he actually enjoys it more than he thought he would; he makes a couple friends but doesn't invite them to his house. His father asks about them and he shrugs, saying that they aren't that close. 

His interest in the martial arts isn't, purely,

selfish. It is, but it's more like he's training for something he isn't sure is going to happen. 

 

\--

 

Tim is twelve and Robin is dead.

Tim doesn't know what happened, but Jason Todd is dead and that means Robin is too. 

Bruce brought his body back to be buried and of course the press had to make a huge deal of it, Vicki Vale at the forefront asking what had happened. Bruce never gave a truly believable answer, and Tim recognized that it meant that Jason must have died on the job. 

No one else seems to notice how white Bruce's fingers are as they clench the podium, or the carefully reined in anger that Tim catches in his eyes. 

But it's more than that. He looks broken, as though something precious has been taken away from him. His son. Gone, forever. 

If his mom and dad hold him a little tighter that night, take a little longer to tuck him into bed, spend some more time saying "I love you, Timmy," to him, who is he to question it? 

It, maybe, shouldn't be surprising when one morning, Tim wakes up to the news that the Joker is in a full-body cast and won't be moving for six months at least. 

Batman's never come this _close_ to killing someone before. All the news agencies are speculating about what it could mean, what drove him to it, and Tim feels sick because he knows why. 

Because the Joker got to Robin. 

Tim is twelve, and Batman is _mean_.

 

\--

 

Tim is thirteen and he needs to do... something.

Three gang members were brought to Gotham General with shattered kneecaps last night. 

Last week, a couple of Penguin's henchmen were admitted with deep lacerations that looked like they were from a batarang. 

Batman has gotten cruel. Nightwing - Dick - isn't in Gotham anymore. He hasn't been spotted in New York City either, and no one is talking about it as much as they should be. 

Well, they aren't talking about Nightwing. They can't seem to stop talking about Batman. About how much more _efficient_ he's gotten. How many more murderers, pedophiles, abusers he's brought in recently. Wondering where Robin is. 

Tim doesn't understand how they're missing it. How they don't see that while Batman's numbers are increasing, there's a way higher percentage of criminals coming in broken, more broken that he used to make them. 

The police are noticing. There's a lot more chatter about how the Bat is roughing up the criminals he finds, and the cops are about 60-40 in favor of it. 

The public is on the complete other side, maybe 70-30 against it.

Tim's father is on the majority side, but it's easy for him to talk big about the problems in the city when they all live in the wealthy district where the biggest drama is who's cheating on who. 

Tim... agrees with his father. But not because he doesn't think Batman should exist, not because he thinks Batman is just as much of a villain as anybody else, but because Batman needs someone to temper him, to keep him from turning bad, to keep him... settled. 

Because when he doesn't have that, bad things happen. People die. 

The Joker is still laid up in Arkham. He hasn't been able to move for four months. 

Tim's okay with that, strangely. Knowing that Joker killed Robin, knowing that Robin was more than just a specter in the night, knowing that Robin was Jason Todd, and that he's dead... Joker shouldn't be allowed to do it to anyone again.

 

\--

 

Tim is thirteen and he's convinced Batman to give him a chance.

He went to Dick first, with all his evidence, begging for Dick to be Robin again, to help Batman, but Dick refused. So, Tim took it upon himself and, with the help of Alfred, saved Bruce and Dick from Two-Face. 

Bruce... wasn't happy. And Tim was on probation for a while. But now he's being given a chance, a chance to train, a chance to make a difference. 

Dick's been helping him out too, helping him be more acrobatic, helping him learn moves beyond what his martial arts classes

taught. 

Tim knows he's not in the right shape to be Robin. Training is hard, but even worse is learning how to actually use the weapons that he's given. The escrima sticks Dick uses don't feel right, something about the balance, but Dick says that Tim needs to be ready for anything and become skilled with any shape and size of blunt object so he can use the objects in his environment. 

He works on self-defense with Bruce or Dick every other day after school, when his father thinks he's attending club meetings, and its grueling. His few years of martial arts training help a little bit, but he's still leagues behind where he needs to be. 

He makes up for the lack of experience in complete heart and dedication, pushing past his limits doggedly until he can't feel any of his limbs. 

Dick will make him stop pretty early, noting every time he stumbles and calling a session after Tim stumbles more than three times in a single spar. 

Bruce, on the other hand, stops only when Tim is collapsed and breathing heavily. He won't push Tim to keep going but will wait for him to call it, to test his limits and see how far he can really go. 

Tim's slowly improving, and he's adopted the use of a staff where Dick uses escrima sticks. It fits him better and extends his reach; even for a Robin, he's scrawny, and he needs all the extra reach he can get. 

While Tim is excited to have his father back and excited to be doing more father-son stuff with him, the direct result is that he loses more and more time to be doing workouts in the cave. He splits the issue by going to the gym with his dad, but on most days he can't get out of Bruce's regimented work-out schedule and ends up doing twice the work.

His muscles are screaming at him, but he pushes himself because he needs to show that he's capable, that he can measure up to Dick, to Jason, to Barbara, to Bruce, to all of them, because he's scared every day that if he doesn't improve, doesn't show Bruce that he deserves to be here he'll be out on his ass and won't be allowed back into the cave. 

His muscles ache everyday but he keeps pushing, keeps proving to Bruce that he can do this, and that he deserves to hold the mantle of Robin. 

 

\--

 

Tim is thirteen and his mother is dead. 

His father is in a wheelchair, and Bruce promised to bring him home, but all Tim can think about is how he should be there, how he should be the one bringing his father home, how it's his fault.

He should have been with them. He should have been able to protect them. 

All this training, and it means nothing in the end. His mother is still dead and his father is still a paraplegic, and Tim is still safe and alive in Gotham because he didn't go with them and Bruce wouldn't let him tag along.

He doesn't get too much time to mourn, because Bruce being out of the country means that there's no one to protect Gotham, so it's him and Nightwing running the streets and protecting the civilians. There's no big activity from the rogues, but Tim is constantly on edge. 

He hasn't slept in two days, plagued by nightmares of his mother screaming, of his father blaming him, of Nightwing dying because of his mistake.

He trains more than ever. 

 

\--

 

Tim is thirteen and he feels more like Robin than ever before. 

Tim's entire life has been dictated by the choices of others around him, and this is the first time he's stepping up to the plate. It's his turn to decide, his turn to choose, and he'll make sure it doesn't go to waste. After all, for a boy who's been daydreaming about Batman and Robin since he was six years old, what other choice _would_ he even make? Everything is a resounding yes.

Bruce asks him to come along on patrol and Tim is off, transported back to a time where he stared longingly at a blurry photo of red and green and yellow and wanted desperately to be doing the same thing.

He goes to Paris to learn, and he does.

Shiva challenges him to kill someone and he refuses, not only because it's Bruce's one rule but because there's something about the thought of taking another's life that terrifies him. It's terrifying because he can see it, sometimes, loses himself to rage and knows, in that instant, how easy it would be to kill one of the criminals that he's facing. 

It's a constant battle, reining in his emotions and not doling out the killing strike, just crippling the criminals until they can't move anymore.

Bruce approves of him, and Dick tells him how proud he is of him, and Tim feels more at home with them, more at home in the Robin mask, than he's ever felt in his own home sitting on the couch with his mother and father.

 

\--

 

Tim is fourteen and Jean-Paul is coating the city in blood.

Batman left him in charge and his first plan of action almost left Tim dead in the Batcave. 

But even with Jean-Paul ruling the night, Tim is the one protecting Gotham. Jean-Paul stays in the Batcave more often than not, and it's left to Tim to stop the small-time mobsters, the rapists, keep the rogues in check as necessary. Protect Batman's city. 

He's 14 and he's in charge of an entire city. 

He doesn't remember the last time he slept for more than two hours. 

Batman left and Dick... escaped, ran as far as fast as he could, which Tim can't begrudge him. Tim is willing to take the challenge on, is ready to defend the city, but it would have been easier without a homicidal and crusading Batman trying to do the same thing, one who has very few (if any) friendly feelings toward Tim. 

Tim sneaks out nightly, no longer able to use the tunnel in the basement that connects directly from Drake Manor to the Batcave. Jean-Paul waits on the other end, so Tim hides his costume in the closet and hopes against hope that no one in the house will start rummaging through there as they look for something. 

Tim's out on the rooftops every night, catching the gangbangers and the crooks and praying that he won't run into Jean-Paul while he's doing the whole vigilante thing, considering how awfully their last meeting went.

 

\--

 

Tim is fourteen and Superboy is infuriating. 

Logically, he understands that Superboy has the mental intelligence of a 3 year old, considering he was force grown over the span of a few months, but with every muttered comment, every accident, _everything_ that Superboy does, really, Tim is actually beginning to lose it.

For someone who prides himself on holding his composure, Superboy makes him lose it. A lot. 

Thus, infuriating.

Cassie is, thankfully, mature enough to hold a conversation with, and he enjoys talking to Cissie.  He misses Cissie; he gets why she left, and doesn't begrudge her the decision, but it'd be nice to have three intelligent and logical people on the team to deal with Bart and Conner when they get into one of their arguments. 

Bart is. Bart. Loud, brash, a child, and one who loves picking fights with Kon, at that. It's like neither of them can resist the impulse (hah) to instigate a fight, and it's driving Tim crazy. He doesn't know why he agreed to join a team with two three-year olds on it. 

Suzie is. Sometimes she's there and sometimes she's not, but every time she is there she's flirting with Tim and refuses to listen when Tim tells her he has a girlfriend. And that he loves her (which he does. Steph is wonderful and amazing and everything he doesn't deserve, and he won't let go of her for all the money in the world). 

Young Justice was dreamed up while sleeping on a cave floor and Tim doesn't regret a thing.

 

\--

 

Tim is fifteen and he's... angry. 

Angry. Confused. Questioning... everything.

He just watched a kid a year or two older than him die, a kid who joined a gang to survive. Obviously it didn't work out. 

Alfred says he shouldn't blame himself. That he couldn't have done anything. The beam was too heavy. Tim did the best he could.

He wasn't _there_. He didn't see what happened.

Tim moved the beam onto Young El's _chest_ \- No.  He can't go there. It wasn't - he wasn't. 

 _Fuck_.

He still thinks about Karl Ranck. About how he couldn't save him either. About how Young El took his life in cold blood, over a stupid argument at school that Karl probably started.

Tim had seen death before. Hell, he's been closely acquainted with it, dealing with Ra's, Jean-Paul, Shiva... the list goes on and on until he doesn't even know where it starts and where it ends. But Karl Ranck was the first.

It was the first death that Tim had a hand in causing. And it was the first death of someone close to him, someone he knew, someone he _went to school with_.

And yeah, he went a little off the deep end after that. It's his own fault for fighting angry.

He could have killed Young El that night. Steph and Connor held him back (thankfully) and he didn't break Bruce's one rule. 

But now Young El is dead anyway, drowned, and Tim can't help but think that there was more he could have done.

Tim could have intimidated him better when he came at him after Karl died. Could have scared him out of the life, because he was just a kid and deserved a better future than dying in some sewer in a city that didn't even care about him. 

He could have done... everything better. Made sure the rebreather stayed in his mouth. Pushed the beam another way. Tried to cut the beam. There were infinite possibilities, and Tim can't help but analyze every single one and wonder, incessantly, why he didn't go with it instead.

Hindsight, as always, is 20/20, and Tim knows he could have saved Young El. 

His father grounds him and Tim doesn't even fight it, because stepping away from the mask for a bit might actually be the healthiest thing he's done in a while. 

Robin... takes him over sometimes, takes him over in a way that Tim wants to understand, because he knows that there's a difference between Tim Drake and Robin, but he isn't sure what yet. 

 

\--

 

Tim is fifteen and the secret is killing him. He's had to watch stupid jocks paw all over Ariana, not been able to stand up to bullies, watched kids like Philmont get dragged off into the woods without being able to do or say anything. 

Tim Drake is a weakling. Robin is the heavy-hitter. 

It kills him that he can't protect people when he's Tim Drake. Because that would raise questions, and regardless of the fact that Tim (as far as his father and classmates know) took martial arts classes for maybe a year, he can't take down three guys bigger than him. Not without someone asking something he doesn't want to answer.

He thinks that's why he turned to Steph. Because she was so amazing, because she didn't question the fact that he couldn't tell her... anything about who he actually is, because she saw who he was in the mask and accepted him anyway, and because she's, well. She's beautiful.

He thinks he might love her. Because, with her, he can be... himself. Can be Tim Drake wearing the Robin mask, not Robin in the Robin mask.

 

\--

 

Tim is fifteen and... everything is going wrong. His father doesn't trust him farther than he can throw him, which Tim really can't blame him for considering how often he just up and goes missing. Ariana isn't speaking to him. Steph is massively pissed off at him. Superboy is questioning his leadership skills, and no one on Young Justice even seems to want him there anymore. Bruce is being more uptight and loner-like than usual. Dick is unreachable. School is. Absolutely unbearable. 

He used to put on the mask because it gave him a higher sense of purpose, because he knew who he was supposed to be while wearing the mask. 

Robin, the Boy Wonder, eternally optimistic and intelligent, always at the Bat's side. 

He used to wear the mask because it was his dream, because it was something he's always wanted. 

After... everything with Young El, putting on Tim Drake was the escape. The escape from the death, the pain, the mistakes. His way of compartmentalizing. 

Nowadays, he puts the mask on to escape his normal life.

Tim's always been escaping.

 

\--

 

Tim is fifteen, and Kon and Bart are his best friends. There are just some things that are inevitable; fighting on Apokolips, almost dying, watching Bart collapse after one of his scouts was killed, and everything else they dealt with in YJ... well, it was destined that they become best friends after that. 

Tim is great at lying to other people, but he's marginally less good at lying to himself. If he's being honest, Kon and Bart were his best friends when YJ started - or at least pretty soon after it started. Sure, they fought and kicked and scratched and argued and Tim wasn't even allowed to tell them his identity for the... longest time, but the only other person he'd even consider as best friend is Dick, and he's more of strictly a brother by this point. Which, to be fair, Tim is infinitely grateful for. 

Young Justice is disbanding, and it was a good run if a short one, but two Titans are dead and all of them are shook up. Greta - Suzie - Greta went _crazy_ and almost killed all of them, Tim included, and piling that insane couple days on top of the deaths of Lilith and Donna... it makes sense that it needed to end. Red Tornado just can't be a mentor and a therapist to all of them. 

Tim shouldn't be. But. He's kind of grateful. Gotham needs him more than anything else right now, and Dick's just lost two of his closest friends. His _brother_ needs him. 

Then, there's the added fact that they're all just kids. Bart and Kon still act like children, sometimes, and Tim might be fifteen and he might have seen more death than any 15-year-old should have, but that doesn't mean they can just keep going after two of their own died in front of them. 

Cassie's been taking it hard, but Tim doesn't know what to say to her. After - After Karl, all Batman had done was say that he can't let the emotion get in the way of Robin. If Tim said that to Cassie, he'd deserve the punch sending him through the wall. 

Sometimes, having Batman as a mentor is crippling. 

It's why he turns to Dick or Babs when he needs actual advice - advice that doesn't deal with working the Batcomputer (although, he would most definitely turn to Barbara for that as well) or how to catch the next super villain that broke out of Arkham. 

He can't actually imagine having a "feelings" conversation with Batman. Or Bruce.

 

\--

 

Tim is fifteen and Conner isn't as annoying as he used to be.

He's matured, either as a direct result of Tana's death or a result of Lilith and Donna being killed in front of them (and Tim's willing to put money on it being both), but he's different. More quietly confident, in a way that's at total odds with the headstrong and brash teammate that Tim was quote-unquote forced to work with in Young Justice.  

It's obvious he was just as reluctant as Tim to form another group, considering how awfully Young Justice ended. But he's here, and Tim can respect that. 

Clark probably made him come.

But he's glad to see at least one familiar face, and the dynamic between them is new too, less unnecessary needling at each other and more banter and understanding.

At least, until Bart runs up and pokes Kon 30 times and ruffles Tim's hair incessantly and Kon is yelling and Cassie comes up and laughs and hugs Tim and Cissie and Secret aren't there anymore but it still feels like it could be, maybe, home.

 

\--

 

Tim is sixteen and Bruce doesn't trust him, not like Tim thought he did.

It started with the message from an Alfred-from-the-future, leading to nothing more than a wild goose chase that was supposed to test Tim's mental limits and his ability to not break under pressure. 

It reminds him all too well of the time when he was at Brentwood and Bruce thought that divulging his secret identity to Steph was a good move, all without even _asking_ Tim his permission. But that was fine, of course, because Tim apparently signed away all of his rights to privacy the second he agreed to be Batman's sidekick. 

It bothers him. It pisses him off, because he trusted Steph to not ask about his identity, and he trusted Bruce to protect it. It was the agreement; it wasn't his secret to give. 

Otherwise, what's stopping Tim from telling everyone who he is? From telling his friends?

When he first started his... nightly activities, being Robin was everything. He's learning, more and more, and understanding why Dick needed to get out.

 

\--

 

Tim is sixteen and he isn't Robin anymore.

He hung up the cape and mask after his father figured it out, pointed a gun at Bruce's head, and accused him of dragging Tim into the life. So Tim stopped. Because his relationship with his father is still rocky, regardless of how much time they've spent together. 

Turns out lying to someone for more than four years isn't a strong foundation for a familial relationship, regardless of how much the individual hates lying and wishes, more than anything, that he could tell the people he loves the truth.

Well, the secrets out now, and Tim thinks his dad might hate him for the time being, so he stays out of the way and quits being Robin and just. The world around him pauses. He goes to school. He...

Conner shows up out of the blue one day, snarking on about his CD collection and his taste in music and Tim is dumbfounded, almost. 

Because Dick was sad and regretted that he left and Bruce was disappointed but understanding, and Alfred still calls him sometimes to talk when he knows that Jack Drake isn't there to intercept it, but no one else really. Well. Tim didn't expect anyone else to say anything. 

He wasn't really expecting anyone to care this much. 

To miss him this much.

Back when they were in Young Justice everyone seemed glad to be rid of him when he left; it's such a discordant difference from Conner chasing after him this time that it takes Tim a few minutes to actually process it.

It shouldn't be that hard to imagine that people outside of Alfred, Dick, and his father care for him. But it is.

 

\--

 

Tim is sixteen and Darla is dying. Tim didn't know her for long but they were close, and he's watching her bleed out in front of him. Her lips are forming wordless gasps as her hands clutch the wound in her stomach where a bullet ripped through skin. 

Tim is putting pressure on the wound and administering CPR, but she's fading fast in front of him. His jeans are sticky with her blood but he keeps trying as gun shots echo around the school. Tyrone is panicking next to him but Tim tunes it out, tunes it all out because right here, right now there is a girl bleeding out in front of him and nothing he's doing is making any difference.

The police aren't making any moves that Tim knows of, but the gang inside the school is wreaking havoc, and with the entire school on lockdown Tim has better places he could be. 

More effective places. Darla won't make it; he's been Robin for a while now, he knows when it's a fatal move, but something keeps him tethered, trying to bring her back. 

Her body is shaking and she's coughing up blood, eyes glassy as Tim breathes into her mouth and continues the chest compressions.

Nothing's helping, nothing can save her, but Tim can't leave. Tyrone is still freaking out and it's not helping either, not in any way that Tim can see.

Gotham is dying and there's nothing he can do about it. There's still blood on his shirt from Darla's gun wound, and images behind eyes of Nightwing and Batgirl coming in to save the day. 

It's so hard not to join them, but he doesn't even have the Robin costume anymore and besides, he can't break another promise to his father. He's been doing too much of that recently. 

 

\--

 

Tim is sixteen and Stephanie is dead. Dead from the war game that she initiated, that Batman never told her about because, to him, she would never be good enough to really be Robin. He didn't let her get away with half the stuff Dick, Jason, or Tim himself got away with. 

She got one strike. Less than she deserved. Steph pushed and pushed and forced Batman to take her on (not unlike Tim himself) but he barely even gave her a fighting chance.

Batman didn't tell him the details. He let him walk away while Stephanie was dying, bleeding out from her torture session with Black Mask.

He let Tim walk away while his girlfriend was dying. Just so that Tim's efficiency wouldn't be impacted. 

Bruce - Dick says he was just trying to protect Tim, that no one needs to see the person they loved die, no one needs to watch it happen, helpless and unable to do... anything. 

Tim hates Bruce, a little bit. He thinks they all do, in their way, at least a little bit. Some do more than others (and, here, Jason comes to mind). Dick hates him for the pedestal he created, the shadow that Dick has to live in and is expected to adopt one day. Jason hates him for... a whole host of reasons, actually. Tim... Tim hates his detachment. He's furious at Bruce, for not trusting him enough to think that he would keep a level head, for lying to him "for the greater good" or whatever bullshit he's spouting, for maybe, just maybe, considering that Tim seeing Stephanie dead would make him lose it, make him break that rule.

Tim is. He doesn't know how much of him hates Bruce for thinking it, and how much of him hates Bruce because Tim is scared he might be right. 

He goes to the funeral. He doesn't cry, not even when he's sees Steph's mom dressed in all black collapse in front of the coffin and scream. His face doesn't change as the coffin is lowered into the ground, as Bruce's hand tightens on his shoulder in the car afterward, as Dick wraps him in a hug when they get back to the cave. He stares ahead, unseeing, mouth pulled into a tight and unhappy line. 

Without saying goodbye to anybody, Tim leaves. Maybe he'll be able to go home later; right now there's anger and tragedy fighting for place in his brain, and all he really wants to do is go beat up a couple gang members to get the emotions out. 

He doesn't. Last time he fought this angry, he almost killed someone. Steph... Steph and Connor were there, and pulled him back to himself, but there's no one in the shadows but him tonight, and he can't be sure that everyone will come out alive if he puts the mask on right now. 

Steph...

He would kill Black Mask. If he could. 

God, why didn't she just _listen_ to him? Tim had told her that it was dangerous, that it wasn't meant to be a joke, and he knows Steph didn't treat it as a joke toward the end, knows that she took it seriously, but he wishes that she had gotten out of the game. 

Tim broke his promise to his father in order to remain loyal to Bruce but now that loyalty is shot. 

It's actually kind of impressive that it took this long.

 

\--

 

Tim is sixteen the first time their future selves come for them. 

He's wearing the cowl, however many years into the future, and there's something about it that doesn't seem... right. Dick should be the one in the cowl, should be the one standing in front of him, but instead all he sees is an older version of himself. 

Except. 

Except it can't be him, most definitely can't be him, because he would never, even in the most wildest dreams, be using a _gun_. It's the equivalent of spitting on everything Bruce once stood for.

Future-him tells him that it's inevitable.

Tim swears that it will never happen.

He means it.

 

\--

 

Tim is sixteen and his father is dead. His life ended in a last-ditch attempt by Captain Boomerang to become relevant again, a life taken in a stupid power battle that ended with Boomerang on the floor bleeding out even as Jack Drake took his last breaths. 

Tim knelt on the floor, knees wet with his father's blood even as Bruce held him away, and his eyes catalogued everything. It's seared into his brain; he can never forget it. He wakes up at night from nightmares where he got there just in time to see the boomerang hit its target, Jack turning accusing eyes on him as Tim stands there, helpless.

They tell him "it's not your fault, you couldn't have known, you tried" and it's all empty words. He could have stopped being Robin and left the game entirely. He could have protected his family. He could have forced his dad to move after the incident that took his mother's life. He could have killed Boomerang. He could have stayed home. He could have done so many things and the useless platitudes that Dick and Barbara and Bruce and Alfred use mean nothing to him, because it is his fault.

He should have figured it out sooner. He shouldn't have left his dad alone, unprotected in the house while Tim knew that the family members of superheroes were being targeted. 

He doesn't actually sleep for a week after his father dies. The phone rings nonstop for the first day and a half, Dick and Alfred begging him to answer the phone and talk to them. 

He doesn't. He can't.

After all, what good is "it's not your fault" when there's no one else to blame? 

Dana is still in the psychiatric ward, suffering from long-term grief or depression or psychosis or whatever new terminology that the doctor thinks up when Tim visits. It's hard, seeing her like this; it only adds to the blame. His job, his life, his secret... how much death has it already contributed to? His father died because Boomerang had something to prove. And now his father is six feet under and his stepmom is locked in a psych ward as she deals with the whole host of issues that came with Jack Drake's death.

Honestly, sometimes Tim thinks that he belongs in there too. 

He hasn't spoken to anyone in weeks; at least nothing past quiet acquiescences that don't actually mean anything. Dick tries to get him to say more than three words at a time, but Tim is broken inside and his throat feels permanently clogged. 

His father's funeral was impossible to get through. Mrs. Mac was a mess, and Tim stared at his father's coffin and all he wanted to do was scream. 

When he comes back to the game, no one talks about it. Dick tries to and Tim walks away. He can't - he just pushed it back enough to actually function again, he can't deal with someone digging it back up again. 

And if he hits a little bit harder, is a bit more ruthless after that, Dick doesn't say anything but Tim can feel his worried gaze on him as he flies away, and tries desperately to shake it off. 

He doesn't tell the team. They don't notice anything is off, and Tim congratulates himself on a job well done. 

He refuses to think anything along the lines of how it makes him like Bruce.

 

\--

 

Tim is sixteen. His father is dead. Bruce wants to adopt him. He can't think of anything he wants less. 

That's nothing against Bruce, either, except in all the ways it kind of is. 

He loves Bruce and Dick and Alfred, but. His dad was his dad. They might have had problems, they might not have been on the best of terms, but he was _still_ Tim's dad and he knows Bruce doesn't mean anything in the form of, well, _replacement_ but Tim still can't face it. 

He hires an actor to be his long-lost relative and trusts in Bruce's faith in him to not look any deeper. Bruce might be the greatest detective ever but he isn't too great at seeing the deception when it's Tim.

The actor does the job as needed and Bruce drops it; Tim resolutely ignores the feeling that he refuses to identify as regret, disappointment.... longing? 

Dick doesn't say anything about it, and Tim thinks maybe Bruce didn't tell him. 

Bruce doesn't mention anything. 

Alfred gets in a few pointed comments but after being at Brentwood so long together Tim has become well-versed at convincing Alfred to drop a subject. 

Tim gets an apartment in the city after his "uncle" takes custody of him (and it might not be legal but Tim really... couldn't care less). It's not great but it's his, and it's a good a place as any to become something... more. 

 

\--

 

Tim is sixteen and Bart is .... not dead. Not exactly.

He's. He's older. A little bit more mature. But he's not Bart anymore. 

Tim goes to visit him, once. It hurt. Bart remembered all the time they spent together, but it was all diluted. He couldn't - relate to him, anymore. They didn't share the same sense of humor, the same likes. It was an uncomfortable hour made more awkward by the ghosts in the room. 

Tim leaves with a promise to call again, but he (and Bart too, probably) realize that it most likely won't happen. 

It just reminds Tim of how everyone is leaving him. 

 

\--

 

Tim is sixteen and Conner is...

 

\--

 

Tim is sixteen and he's finally realized that he's in love with his best friend, and it's all too late. Conner left behind a legacy and a team, and he left Tim behind too but no one else seems to be looking at it that way. 

Him and Dick and Bruce went on a trip around the world and he still doesn't feel settled, feels antsy and unfettered in ways that don't settle themselves down after beating up a few bad guys. He's doing more than ever before, he's taking down the big bads, he's saving lives, but there's such a gaping maw in the space where so many of his loved ones used to be and he doesn't understand what to do to fix it.

He's kind of terrified that he's going to turn into Bruce, and it's taking a concentrated effort to push that headspace away.

Late at night when he's alone on a rooftop and everything is quiet, quiet, he understands Bruce more than he thinks he ever has before. It's easy to slip into the headspace, to push away any and all emotion and focus everything, all of your being on fighting. On surviving. On revenge. 

It's so much easier than _feeling_.

He wishes... he wishes. He regrets. There were so many things he could have done, so many things he could have said.

He went to Conner's funeral. Conner would have hated it. After being the Kid for so long, he started to hate the attention. A huge funeral with every superhero in attendance? Huge mobs of people mourning him? Conner wouldn't have liked it. He would have rather stayed in Titans Tower with the team. 

But Tim goes. Because Conner was his best friend. Because Cassie needs support. Because Tim loved him, and he realized it too late.

He knows he won't be able to say anything at the funeral. There are too many people with superhearing there, and he's not about to confess to a coffin. 

He changed his costume to reflect Conner's colors (or, well, Alfred did) and it's just another form of self-actualization for Tim.

He misses Conner _so much_. It's the little things all around him that remind him that his best friend, the possible love of his life, is gone, and not coming back. An Enya song brings with it crystal-clear memories of Kon kneeling in Tim's room, loudly disparaging his CD collection as Tim frantically tried to get him to leave before his father came upstairs. The statues outside the Tower are painful memories of Conner and Bart, solid gold reminders of his two best friends who are gone now.

 

\--

 

Tim is sixteen and he's seen more death than almost anyone his age.

It's not fair, he understands that, so why wouldn't he try and do something about it.

Dick stops him from testing out the effects of the Lazarus Pit, and Tim is eternally grateful for that, he really is, because anything that Ra's al Ghul uses to restore his immortality isn't anything he wants coming near his loved ones. And now that he's thinking clearly, he understands that.

But Dick's not around to help with this anymore, so all of Tim's work in the sublevels of the tower are continuing as planned.

He knows it's wrong. Fucked up. He knows that if it works, no one will thank him. They'll hate him; and no one more so than Conner. 

But... he'll be alive. And in the end, when faced with the choice of having Conner _back_ even if he hates Tim with every fiber of his being or letting Conner stay dead and never being able to see him, talk to him again? It's a no brainer.

There has to be a way, there _has_ to be, because if Tim ends up bringing back an empty shell or, god forbid, creates another Bizarro or Match, he'll have to deal with the consequences. 

He needs to talk to Raven. 

Tim wakes up almost nightly from nightmares of buildings tumbling down around him, the names of ghosts on his lips as he's pulled from a nightmare. The manor is so quiet on nights like this. 

On the few nights Bruce doesn't ask him to patrol and he actually listens, he can't even sleep. 

He'll stumble down to the kitchen, covered in sweat and still trying to pull away from the dream and _forget_ , and Alfred, god bless, will already be in the kitchen and warming up a pot of hot chocolate or coffee. 

Maybe it should worry him that this is becoming a regular occurrence in his life. The nights he wakes up from nightmares and just can't face the thought of going back to sleep outnumber the times he actually sleeps. He's averaging about an hour a night, going to school during the day and being generally cut off from everyone else.

Ives is pissed, blames him for being bored, but Tim doesn't know how to tell him that he's lost everyone he cares about and that life is just... kinda meaningless now. 

It's just so much easier to separate himself from everything. To be numb. 

To stop.

 

\--

 

Tim is sixteen and he's now a Wayne. Bruce adopted him, and he let him, gave up whatever notions of self-efficacy that filled him when he hired an actor to pose as his relative when the fear of replacing his father took hold at the thought of Bruce adopting him. 

He's a Wayne, yes, but he's still a Drake. Drake-Wayne, to be syntactically correct.

Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. He couldn't sound more old money if he had a numeral attached to the end of it. 

Drake-Wayne. It seems... appropriate might not be the right word, but it's the closest Tim can come right now. Sometimes he feels more like Bruce than he ever felt like his real father, and he's not sure how much of that came from wearing the cape and the mask versus how much of it is just... him. 

The Drake legacy bears down on him. It's a weight upon his shoulders and he accepts it as his cross to bear. 

The mansion is gone, the town home is gone, and Tim is all but living at Wayne Manor, but he refuses to let himself forget the Drake legacy. His mother and father are dead and Drake Industries is no more, but Tim will be damned if he lets go of the Drake name for a second. Bruce honors his request, because he understands more than anyone else in the family the complexity of legacies, and how sometimes you can't seem to let them go. 

Still. 'Tim Drake' doesn't seem right anymore. 

Too much has been changed. He's too similar to Bruce, been put through too much. 

The Wayne legacy is a different cross to bear in more ways than one. Bruce is already grooming Tim to take over Wayne Enterprises, although Tim would have accepted that particular task without any input from Bruce. 

It feels like a betrayal of sorts, working at WE even though Drake Industries no longer belongs in any matter other than name to Tim. But at the same time, it makes sense. 

Dick is over in Blüdhaven doing his own thing, establishing himself, and even if he wasn't, Dick would never be able to sit through a board meeting without doing a few handstands. Tim also knows that Jason would probably try and stab Bruce (again) if he tried to ask Jason to take over the company. Tim's just the logical last choice. Like normal. 

The scarier part, to Tim, is the other half of the Wayne legacy (or, well, the _Bruce_ legacy), that he thinks he's being groomed for. He knows that he's the best detective of the group, knows that he had more training than Dick, and there's no way Jason can be the one to wear the cowl when Bruce is gone. 

He tries to ignore it, tries to find any other explanation, but there's no way Damian will be able to fill the shoes for a while now, so Tim just, conveniently, decides to not think about it for the near future unless it actually becomes an issue.

So. Tim Drake-Wayne it is. He takes it, and moves forward.

 

\--

 

Tim is sixteen and Bart is dead. Actually dead this time.

He got a phone call in the middle of the night, a quiet voice informing him that his other best friend had been killed by the Rogues, and drops the phone.

It's too much. It's too much.

He collapses by the bed as his head spins. Another one, someone else he loved, gone. 

Not that Tim and him have spoken in a while. Things kinda got awkward when Bart was suddenly older than him, and more mature than Tim's ever seen him. They tried to meet up a few times, but the conversation always turned back to Conner and Tim always ended up leaving feeling like a weight was pulling him down into the Earth. 

He should have spent more time with him.

He regrets that. 

Bart's death is, probably, the one that he really can't blame himself for. 

It doesn't mean he doesn't try. 

 

\--

 

Tim is seventeen and he's beginning to think he's cursed.

At last count (and how awful is it, that he has to even say that anymore?), he's dealt with upwards of 10 deaths of people close to him. 

Most of them happened over the last year. 

He pushes people away because it seems like everyone dies around him. 

He tries to take samples from the Lazarus Pit because then maybe, maybe he can find the secret to cloning that's been eluding him ever since Conner died.

Maybe he can bring them all back. Maybe he won't have to be alone anymore. 

 

\--

 

Tim is seventeen and he wants to die.

Dick thinks he should see a therapist. The only option is Leslie, because she's the only one who knows about Tim's particular proclivity for nighttime activities, and any other therapist would react to a dry "five people I loved have died in the past year" with either disbelief or suspicion, because that doesn't just happen to people. 

Except it happened to Tim. 

It's just - it's all so much, and Tim is so tired, and it's been a year but he still misses his dad so much, even with all their problems. Still misses Conner, misses Bart. Can barely even think about Steph. 

It's sometimes hard for Tim to see a point to it all anymore. They're saving lives, and saving people, but at the cost of those around them. 

Tim never agreed to that payoff. But he's the one suffering the most from it.

He knows it's maudlin. Knows that it's definitely a warning sign, and he knows that every time Dick talks to him he's running through a mental checklist of signs to watch for when you think someone might be suicidal. 

Tim knows he checks every single damn box on the list. He also knows how to hide it, and hide it well. 

Bruce might recognize it, might actually understand, because he isn't the picture of mental health either, but until Tim actively tries to get killed or kill himself Bruce seems content to let things keep going on this path. Dick is actively trying to help him, and Tim appreciates it, but in the end it's going to be ultimately fruitless.

It's going to be Tim's decision in the end anyway. 

Whether he lives. Whether he dies. Whether  he "accidentally" steps a bit off during a fight, loses track of a gun, whatever. He knows how to make it look like his mistake. Knows that no one would really think it was intentional. 

Alfred might be the only one who suspects, and really, without cameras they're never going to be sure of anything.

Truly? The number one thing holding Tim back is how everyone will react. Bruce can't lose another Robin, not without breaking. Dick would blame himself and put even _more_ fault on his shoulders, and this might be the one thing that breaks him. Alfred... Tim doesn't want to think about it. They grew close during his time at Brentwood, and Tim knows that him dying would probably hurt Alfred the most.

And then there's Dana. While he has no doubt that Bruce would provide for her, would do as much possible to keep her comfortable, Tim is her only real link left. 

He can't leave her. 

But.

The thought of not having to deal with the pain anymore, it's. Tempting.

 

\--

 

Tim is seventeen and he hates Damian. Loathes him with every fiber of his being. 

It's difficult to actually like someone who once left you for dead on a grimy floor in the Batcave. 

Dick says that Damian wasn't raised like they were, that he was born to be a killer, and Tim gets it, he really, _really_ does, but that doesn't make him actually like the kid. Feel bad for him, sure. But _like_ him? There's no reason to.

Tim does enough self-flagellation to himself, he doesn't need to take it from some snot-nosed _kid_ who doesn't know the half of what he's talking about even if he is Bruce's kid. Even if Dick keeps shooting Tim long, disappointed glances every time Tim and Damian get into a physical... altercation. 

Tim's worked so hard to get to where he is, and he isn't about to give it up to some brat who thinks he knows what's best.

 

\--

 

Tim is seventeen and Steph is _back_ , back from the dead and back in his life. She stalked him for a while and he never knew she was there, so. Point for her in improvement, he supposes.

Once, Steph was all he thought about. Over the year he was gone, her presence in his mind faded to more of a dull awareness, always mentioned when he talks about those he lost but not anything more than that. He thinks she might have deserved better, now. But everything with Steph got so muddled up after she died, after Tim dealt with rapid-fire tragedy after that.

Now, once again, she's all he can think about, but it's not like it used to be. He's not wondering when they can meet up again, wondering what Batman would say if he knew, wondering how long they were gonna last, etc. etc. But now, all he can think about re: Steph is how betrayed he feels.

It was over a year. She faked her death for _over a year_. 

Because Leslie hated the crusade. And yeah, she had her reasons and it made _sense_ , Tim can't be that mad, except. 

He is.

 

\--

 

Tim is almost eighteen. Bruce is dead. 

Gotham is a madhouse.

The king is dead and his children are fighting for the spoils. 

Dick is refusing to step up, scared of the cowl because of what he might become, because of what it turned Bruce into, and Tim can't blame him. Dick is sunlight, and Batman is shadow. He's the best choice, but his fear of getting lost in the darkness is keeping him from being the best of all of them. 

Tim has no such qualms. He's been empty inside for what feels like forever, and melting into the shadows is exactly what he's managed to be able to do. 

Dick's been handling Blüdhaven on his own for a while, but Tim's been doing his own work in Gotham, and he's _good_ at it. 

He never wanted to be Batman, just like Dick didn't - albeit for different reasons. Dick can't because he doesn't want to be Bruce, he doesn't want to be living in the shadow. 

Tim is scared to become Batman because he can see himself falling into it too easily. Shoving all of his emotions down, staying in the shadows, pushing away everyone who gives a damn about him? Easy. Done and done. Tim's been a master of it since he first pulled on the mask. 

Being Robin - it forced him to keep it to a minimum. Being on a team - Bart, Conner, Cassie - they all stopped him from doing it, once they'd figured out what exactly he was doing. Conner more than most.

But he can still see himself wearing the cowl. And the inherent problem with that is that all of them can, except Dick.

Jason stopped by. Asked Tim to be his Robin. 

Tim shot it down in a heartbeat. He's not going to follow the guy who tried to kill him while wearing hot pants. 

And Damian is just being absolutely _ridiculous_. The kid is freakin' 10, and he might have been trained by criminal mastermind Ra's al Ghul himself, but he's in no way ready to take on the responsibility that comes with the cowl. Of course, that isn't going to stop him from trying. Because why would it?

It doesn't hurt to remember that when the Titans came back from the future, Tim was the one wearing the cowl and the mask.

(Sure, he was also carrying a gun, but any time-traveler will tell you that parts of the future can be true.)

But then everything ends with Tim almost dying (again) from a batarang to the chest, courtesy of Jason, in debt to Damian for pulling him out of the collapsing cave, and Tim wonders (for what isn't the first time) if maybe it's time to call it quits. 

Dick, of course, steps up, and who knew that all it took was one of his brothers almost dying and the other going MIA under rubble before he would take on the responsibility? If Tim had known, he'd've make sure that Damian was the one getting the batarang to the chest, not him.

 

\--

 

Tim is eighteen and he's not Robin.

Instead, the demon brat is wearing his costume and smirking at him even as he points out all of Tim's flaws, throws his losses back in his face, and, well. Tim can kind of understand how Jason felt when he saw Tim walking around in his costume after coming back from the dead. 

Being replaced feels like serrated steel being drawn across his skin; even though he hasn't worn the green and yellow in a while (red and black is more his style now) it hurts to see Damian wearing it, to see Dick looking at Tim with regret in his eyes but refusing to back down. It's everything Tim's feared since he first put on the mask: being pushed aside, being told he wasn't good enough, being... replaced.

Dick's apologetic look isn't doing anything, because regardless of how sorry he is it doesn't take away the fact that he's firing Tim and deserting him in order to work with Bruce's real son. 

Dick says that they're equals, that he doesn't want Tim to be a subordinate anymore. Tim tries to explain that he could still be Robin and work with him, but Dick is adamant. 

He's so dedicated to finding Damian a place in the family that he's pushing Tim away, and he doesn't even realize it. 

So Tim leaves. He goes to Germany. He goes to the Middle East, to France. He scours the globe, because an instinct inside him is screaming that Bruce can't be gone, he just can't be. 

It might have been sheer denial at first, but the more Tim thinks about it, the more it could be true. No one knows much about the Anti-Monitor, what it does to people. 

At least, no one who will talk.

So.

Tim reinvents himself. Hides behind the mantle of Red Robin, of the failed Robin, because it gives him leeway that he never had when he was draped in the yellow, red, and green. He's more lenient with his punches, doesn't pull half as much as he normally does, and leaves a thicker trail of blood behind him.

Robin isn't so much a character as it is a headspace, and Red Robin is as different from it as day is to night. As Robin, Tim didn't ignore his training from Shiva so much as he thought too much about it, desperately reminded himself not to use a killing blow on whatever goon he encountered before it was too late. 

As Red Robin, he's embracing his training, and while he might not be leaving any bodies behind (yet) the cowl hides enough of himself that he isn't as concerned about breaking bones. Permanently. 

Shiva would be proud. Probably.

Bruce - most assuredly would not be.

But he's finally getting results, finally getting tips that are hopefully going to lead him to answers about whether or not Bruce is dead, but there's an instinct screaming that Bruce can't be dead, that he absolutely can't be, because there's no way he would go down that easily.

 

\--

 

Tim is seventeen. Bruce is alive.

Everything begins and ends in Paris. It's where he trained to get the gig, and it's where he goes now to prove that his mentor is still alive.

No one believes him. Dick thinks he's suffering from grief, from delusions, and he might have been right at first but now Tim knows he's alive, it feels as right as it did when Tim realized who Batman and Robin actually were.

Then Conner finds him in Paris. 

Tim thinks it's a hallucination, at least until Krypto shows up and, ah. Fetches the car for him.

He wants to hug Kon, he wants to cry, but the cowl is heavier than ever. He doesn't. 

And Conner _listens_ to him, more than anyone has in recent months. 

He's the only one who's believed Tim this entire time, only one who's stood by his side, and it's killing Tim that he can't - he can't - he can't _say_ anything to Conner, too many years of lying and hiding and running have conditioned him _so well_ to the point that he can't even admit he has... something... for Conner.

They sit in silence after Tim tells Conner that Bruce is alive.

Tim feels like his life, maybe, might be halfway to alright again.

 

\--

 

Tim is almost eighteen and Bruce is back.

Back from wherever he was lost in time, and all Tim wants to do is yell "I _told_ you so!" at everyone who didn't believe him, but he likes to think that he's a bit more tire than that. Which. He is. 

(That doesn't stop him from loudly thinking it and really hoping there aren't any telepaths nearby.)

 

\--

 

Tim is eighteen and it would be so easy to let Digger Harkness die. It would be easier than watching Conner fall, easier than watching Bart killed by the rogues, easier than shutting off everyone from his life... Easier than holding his father even as the boomerang protruded from his chest and understanding that there was nothing anyone could do to bring his father back.

Captain Boomerang walked right into the trap Tim laid for him, didn't even question any of it as he unerringly followed the path that Tim carved. None of it is Tim's fault. He just put the pieces in place. Captain Boomerang knocked them down and kept following them. He could have turned around at any time but he kept powering through, kept making the choices that were going to end in him six feet under (again).

Tim's father died because Boomerang was easily manipulated, didn't question his good luck, would do anything for his rep, and because he was desperate. A quick mix of the same four main ingredients led him to where he was now, and it's obvious that Harkness didn't learn, because he's facing down Freeze and he actually thinks he has a chance. 

Tim waits. He watches. He.

He can't do this. 

He saves Harkness with his stomach rolling, nauseous and hating himself, seeing the ghost of his father staring him down as he saves the man who killed him.

Tim hates himself. He can't look at Boomerang as he escapes, and all he wants to do is hide away from the world.

But.

Bruce was watching, and he saw Tim lay the path out, saw Tim not pull away, saw Tim allow Boomerang to keep making the wrong choices without ending it, and he also saw Tim save Boomerang when every instinct was screaming not to.

But Bruce still blames him. Still questions his loyalty, and it burns, because Tim was the only one to have unquestioned faith when Bruce was trapped in time, when everyone else wrote him off as being dead. 

It hurts that Bruce doesn't seem to have that same faith in him. 

Tim wonders, quietly and quickly squashed, if he ever did.

 

\--

 

Tim is eighteen. He's Red Robin. He's the protégée of the Dark Knight, the protector of Gotham.

He's overcome... everything. All the tragedy. All the pain. All the disbelief. 

He's come out the other side stronger for it, and he might not be completely healed but he can see it on the horizon like the light finally shining at the end of a long, dark tunnel, and he feels hope.

Tim can do it. He can protect Gotham. Everyone he loves... He's finally okay with it all, finally figured out who he was among all the tragedy.

He hasn't feel this good in a long time.

And Conner... Kon is back, and Tim is in love with him, and he's thinking that Conner might be in love with him too, and there's nothing left to do except take that leap of faith and tell his best friend that he loves him. After the absolute hell that the past two years turned out to be, it's time for Tim to move on, to settle the past, and become... more. 

Because he's proved, to himself and everyone else, over and over again that he is capable, that he can't be broken, that he deserves the mantle, that he-

That he's _good enough_. 

And Tim's going to deal with all of it.

He's going to keep Gotham safe. He's going to protect his family. He's going to mend things with Dick, with Bruce. With Steph.

He's going to tell Conner he's in love with him.

He's going to _heal_.

He's going to do it. He -

 

\--

 

_Black. **Darkness**. And then, out of the nothingness, a light._

_A reset._

 

\--

 

Tim is sixteen years old. His father isn't dead. His mother isn't dead. They're... somewhere off the map. He's living with Bruce Wayne, and of course Bruce is Batman, it all makes sense, how could Tim not have seen it before? 

Bruce sought him out, asked him to come aboard, and its obvious that he chose Tim for his gymnastics prowess rather than a true desire to have a new sidekick. 

Tim has two paths to explore. He can turn down Bruce's offer and (maybe) walk away from it with memories and bones intact, allowed to live free as long as he keeps his mouth shut. He can pursue his Olympic dream and win a gold sometime in the near future.

Or... he can don a mask and cape and start doing something worthwhile with his life. It's up to him. 

Really, it's not a choice at all. 

 

\--

 

Tim is sixteen, and while this might not have been what he's been training for his entire life, there's something about wearing the mantle of Red Robin that just fits. 

He was an acrobat, a gymnast, and he's working harder than he ever has before when he's under Batman's tutelage. 

But Batman isn't - it's not enough, for him, so he strikes out on his own. Thanks Bruce for the tips, flips off Damian for the hell of it, reminds Dick that blue and black will always be a better color than blue and red, and leaves Gotham. He heads away to reinvent himself, to get out from under Bruce's shadow, because Tim knows his abilities and knows his limits and Robin was never going to be his endgame. 

Red Robin means something to him, it's something he can make his own, more so than gymnastics ever was. It's a form of reinvention, and Tim takes it as quickly as he can.

 

\--

 

Tim is still sixteen and Kon-el is every bit the abomination he was created to be.

He nearly killed Cassie, nearly killed all of them, and they still took him in, let him come with them to _save_ him, because he can be more than what he was made to be.

At least, he could be if he'd drop the damn attitude and start _listening_ to Tim for a change.

The Teen Titans - which is a terrible name, in Tim's opinion, but they needed _something_ to call themselves - are a ragtag group of some of the angstiest and most lost superheroes (if Tim can call them that) that he's ever known. 

Cassie seems to be on the verge of killing all of them if they call her Wonder Girl one more time. 

Bart is just - fucking annoying, and if he steals one more sweater of Tim's, Tim is going to let Cassie kill him.

Solstice is... optimistic, and her and Miguel get along fabulously. They might be the two Tim can stand the most. 

Beast Boy is another story altogether.

And Tim is on the verge of killing Superboy, if not for his rather dicey history than his cocky freakin' _smirk_ he gets anytime Tim speaks. 

It's driving him up the _wall_.

But they are a team, and whatever fucked up definition of family that fits that day, and Tim would still sacrifice almost anything for them regardless.

That's something that never changes.

 

\--

 

Tim is sixteen and he doesn't know who to trust. Bruce has been lying to them the whole time, the Joker might know their identities, and all of them were his prime targets in his crusade against Batman. 

Tim's lived most of his life with a bullseye on his chest, but it gets hit a lot less than one would think, so when there is a direct hit like the one the Joker just pulled off, it rattles a person. And when Alfred is hit that hard, it's. It reminds them all of what's important, how close they all are to mortality at any given moment. It's something of a testament to how invincible they all think Alfred is that it takes him being hurt almost beyond recognition for them to snap back to reality.

But anyway. Tim's pretty unsettled for a number of reasons, the least of which being that he doesn't actually know how Joker got the jump on all of them. 

It's more to do with the fact that Bruce trusts them even less than they all thought, and that these secrets might actually be out and Bruce didn't even have the decency to tell them.

Tim's obviously not feeling up to going back to the cave after a realization like that.

 

\--

 

Tim is sixteen and Dick... Dick's gone. Dead. Killed by the Crime Syndicate, bomb strapped to his life force and leaving him helpless and vulnerable. 

Tim doesn't know what to do. His brother is gone and Bruce won't speak to any of them. Alfred hasn't done anything but clean in days, and he hasn't gone near the picture of Dick and Bruce from back when Bruce was starting out and Dick had just joined the team. 

Tim sits by that picture a lot. 

But it's strange. There's a yawning chasm in his chest that flares whenever Tim thinks of Dick, and even though they were close and they were brothers, it... it shouldn't be this hard for him? 

Dick was long gone, doing his stuff as Nightwing when Tim was recruited to be the next iteration of Robin (because really, that's all it is) and then Tim cut himself off from the family pretty quick in order to stalk other teenaged superheroes and maybe find out whatever Big Bad is behind some of the recent crap that happening. 

But there's something inside him that's screaming, saying that it's his brother, that he should be completely destroyed by his loss. 

But he's not, and the dichotomy is making him second guess things. 

He elects not to think about it anymore, and moves on.

 

\--

 

Tim's (still) sixteen and Conner is going to sacrifice himself; a stupid, selfish, immature, pointless decision to give himself up to Harvest, even though there's no way N.O.W.H.E.R.E. will stop coming after them regardless of Conner's actions here. 

Tim is sixteen years old and he's already ready to sacrifice his own life for Conner. For any member of his team. Because that's what they are, with or without the clever moniker of 'Titans', and he would halt the world for any of them if he could.

Well. Maybe not Bart, if he keeps stealing his sweaters and ruining them.

He doesnt know why it feels familiar, why begging Conner to not leave, to not be dead brings up half-formed memories of the world collapsing around him and a black and red t-shirt surrounded by rubble. Doesn't know why there's a gaping maw in his chest as Conner pushes his arms away, thanks him, and - and - flies away.

Dies.

 

\--

 

Tim is sixteen and Dick is _back_. Him and Jason were, however reluctantly, summoned to the same rooftop in the pitch black of night and when Dick showed up Tim wanted nothing more than to punch him. 

Jason beat him to... well, to the _punch_ , however, so Tim stood back and watched. 

Dick is trying to explain why he was gone, how Batman forced him to go under and fake his death, and all Tim can think is that _of course, Batman **would** do that_ , and one part of him wants to jump off the roof and swing away until he's no longer angry. The other, much bigger part of him, is reconciling the fact that his brother is alive with the grief that still spills from his chest so he stays.

But what does that say about him, that Batman went to those lengths and all Tim reacted with was _typical_?

He files it away for later evaluation, because now his _brother_ is alive again - not that he was ever really dead, just too loyal to Bruce and not independent enough to refuse - and Tim still kinda really wants to punch him. Or push him off the roof. 

He also wants to hug Dick but, well, none of them are really _touchy-feely_ so he ignores the urge and folds his arms instead. 

Dick is talking, trying to explain, and words are running through Tim's head and not computing, at least until Dick gives him a meaningful look. Then he starts talking again, putting a weird emphasis on his first word, and Tim knows what he's getting at when he's tossed a thin pipe. 

That stupid code that Dick taught him and Jason and the rest of the family, just in case someone is listening in. Tim immediately tenses, and it _might_ be more than a tad hypocritical but he really doesn't like being observed. Dick looks calm, though, so he doesn't pull out a smoke grenade from his belt to obscure any cameras. 

Dick flips away and Tim watches him go, acrobatic and graceful, and breaks open the pipe.

Sometimes, Dick is pretty predictable.

 

\--

 

Tim is seventeen and the city is in chaos. Kids are rising up all around Gotham to declare themselves Robins in the face of the new party line coming down from the cops, and Tim can't tell if he's impressed or annoyed. Robin was intended to be a sanctity, an honor bestowed upon the deserving, and only a handful of these kids even deserve to be considered for the mask. But Robin has always been a symbol of freedom and independence, and most of them got the job by having the balls to step up and take on the responsibility, so. Who are they to say anything?

Until the kids start getting killed. And then there's a moratorium on being Robin at all, and there's a new Bat in town, so Tim delicately steps away from Gotham for a bit. 

 

\--

 

Tim is seventeen and Conner is gone, Bart is gone, and he's back at the nest with Batman and the rest, back with Steph, and something about this feels almost familiar. He closes his heart to everyone but Steph and Cass, and follows Batwoman's training to the letter.

He tweaks the belfry and installs his own consciousness into the machine (take that, Descartes), downloading memories, programs, audible recordings, because Tim can feel something on the horizon.

Could feel it when he asked Bruce why he was preparing for a war and Bruce wouldn't answer him with anything more than a glower. 

He doesn't remember much about the past few months, which would be more worrying than it is in any other situation, but there's a bit more on his plate now and he can't really devote time to figuring out that mystery. 

Especially considering he wants out of the game, at least for a little bit. The thing with Conner... hit hard, and Tim hates himself a little bit for pushing away all those repressed feelings (aka beating them back with a large stick) until after it was too late.

But. He wants out. 

He sent in the application to Ivy College yesterday. 

He doesn't know how to tell Bruce. 

Doesn't know how to say that he wants out of the game, that he wants to try to be normal, that him and Steph are going to move in together if he gets accepted.

He has _no idea_ what he's going to tell Bruce.

 

\--

 

Tim is seventeen and he's not ready to die.

There are hundreds of drones locked onto his location, and he programmed them there himself, but he's not ready to die. Because there won't be any other outcome, in the end. He might be good, might be one of the best, but even Batman would struggle to pull this off, so there's no way Tim can. 

He hears Steph screaming in his ear and smiles. He loves her. 

The drones come.

 

\--

 

Tim is seventeen and he's coughing up blood and he can't feel his right arm but somehow he did it. He survived, he beat the drones, and he doesn't actually know how he did it but he knows how many lives he saved by doing it. 

He clicks onto the comms to tell the others that he survived but is distracted by a buzzing noise.

There's more of them. Hovering in the air, pointed toward the Belfry as if waiting on a command. 

Tim shakily presses a hand to his comm. 

He tells Steph he loves her. Tells Bruce he's sorry. Tells them - all of them - not to worry. That this is his choice.

And, of course, that's what it all comes down to, isn't it? From the very beginning Tim's been trying to have his own say, dictate his own fate, and this is the opportune moment. 

He didn't choose to be Robin. He didn't figure it out. Bruce invited him into the circle, and there was no way that Tim turned that offer down. 

But this? The decision to undo the command, to let the drones attack homes, uproot lives, instead of sacrificing himself and saving however many lives? It's the first, and maybe only, chance that Tim has to make a decision that he never regrets. 

He transfers his bō staff to his left hand and assumes the stance, refraining from crying out in pain. There's no way he's going to survive this one. Not with a broken arm, not fighting with his left hand, and not feeling so tired, so absolutely none-weary that it's all he can do to stand up. 

He watches the drones fall closer and closer with each passing second, and closes his eyes. Steph is still screaming in his ear and he can hear Batman now too, and Nightwing is panicking and hurrying back to the Belfry as quick as humanly possible, but Tim knows none of them will be there in time to stop anything.

He doesn't want them to be. The entire Belfry will go down when he does.

Should he fight? He doesn't know. He can barely move his arm and his swollen cheek is... severely restricting visibility. 

Tim looks up. The drones are coming. Even with the promise of fiery death trailing behind them, they look beautiful, silhouetted against the dark Gotham sky. 

He closes his eyes, braces for impact, and-

 

\--

 

Tim is ageless, is both himself and not, is both old and young, when he's in Mr. Oz's prison. His head hurts, feels like a vice is being squeezed around it, and for a minute he loses himself.

Are his parents alive? How long did he and Stephanie date for? Was he ever Robin? 

He doesn't know, and he does, but there are so many different versions of memories rushing through his head and confusing him and he has no idea which ones are real. 

In one, Bruce is dead and he's wearing the cowl, but it's not the batsymbol covering his torso, it's a robin. In another, he's dressed in all black and fighting off an evil robot army version of the Justice League while mini Jokerz run around a neon-lit landscape that reveals itself to be Gotham City. Another has him supporting a bleeding Conner, standing strong as a Superman with blood on his hands sends the Titans to the phantom zone. 

Tim squeezes his eyes shut. Images are flashing past his eyes - a vision of a bar, cleaning out a dusty glass, a red suit with wings that let him fly. His brain keeps stuttering, showing him a memory of him in the future, shooting a Kryptonite bullet into someone who can only be Conner, calling him brother as a tear slips down his cheek.

Tim curls in on himself in his cell and grips his hair. The pain steadies him, lets him actually _think_ , and grounds him.

Everything hurts. Conflicting memories are crashing against his brain and he wishes he knew enough to separate fact from fiction, to separate different realities to understand just what the fuck is going on.

Oz said he had to be taken out of the game, because he was connecting threads. Because he was changing things. 

Tim doesn't know what the _fuck_ that means, but he assumes it's something to do with the fact that a Superman came from another world, one they didn't know about, except it wasn't really a world as it was an alternate timeline.

It's not like Tim has any lack of time to think. 

He'll make sense of it eventually.


End file.
